


Match Smoke

by ProjectFYERBIRD



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Past, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectFYERBIRD/pseuds/ProjectFYERBIRD
Summary: "They say I'm dangerous. Do you think I'm dangerous?" "Not dangerous, no. Just . . . misunderstood."A hint of a smirk tugged at your lips."You say that about everything. Even the dragons."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time actually writing for Newt so let me know if he's OOC or not. 
> 
> Also, a Pyrrhic is something that I made up myself, and in the wizarding world, it means a person who was born with the ability to create and control flame (basically pyrokinesis). There are rumours that they can communicate with Phoenixes, but no one can confirm if those rumours are true or not.

Newt wasn't sure of where he stood with you. Well, at the moment he stood at your side, a few feet behind you, but he meant figuratively. Did you barely tolerate him? Did you consider him a close friend? It was hard to tell with you. But he couldn't deny that he held a special fondness for you, despite all your secret-keeping and blank stares and long silences. You were reassuring to have around, like a comfort object (it was hard to feel scared when he had you around, after all, you were a pretty intimidating person). So he continued his work with you by his side. 

He remembered the first time he met you, standing at the side of the Minister of Magic, face severe and back straight. 

* * *

  _He entered the room quietly, slipping through the doors as if to disturb as less air as possible. The current Minister of Magic, Hector Fawley, sat at his desk, hands folded politely on the lacquered wood. He smiled, gesturing to the chair opposite him, "Ah, Mr. Scamander, please, take a seat." The walls of the office had a few paintings, and a few of them waved at him. One winked, and he flushed before returning his attention back to the Fawley._

_That was when he noticed you. You stood at the right of the Minister's high backed chair, arms folded behind your back as you stared rigidly ahead. You looked like a soldier, he noted wearily, all too familiar with soldiers. His brother, Theseus, was a soldier himself. It was hard not to remember, he thought, with a hint if bitterness. Fawely followed his gaze, and smiled again, although this one seemed a little more forced. "I see you've spotted Y/N." He gestured to you, and you nodded at both him and Fawley before returning to look at the doors._

_Oh, so Y/N was your name. It was a fitting._

_"The Ministry and I saw fit to have someone accompany you on your journey. They're trained in first aid as well, should the need for medical attention arise," the way he said the said the last sentence implied that he knew that Newt would definitely be needing it. Newt opened his mouth to refuse, to say that the thought was appreciated but he worked alone. The words died on his tongue when he caught your gaze. It was piercing, and your E/C eyes seemed to bore holes into his soul. It was as if they were reading him like a book, it was a bit unnerving, really. He dropped his gaze quickly, and suddenly the wood of Fawley's desk was really interesting._

_"No protests? I guess it's settled then. The two of you will leave first thing the day after tomorrow."_

* * *

It had been a year since then, and Newt had learned a lot about you. 

There were the little things, like how you liked your coffee (black), your favourite foods, you loved that leather jacket of your's very much and rarely left without it, little quirks that only someone with his eye would notice (like how you chewed on the side of your thumb when you were nervous or antsy, or the way your lips twitched when you were repressing a smile). And then there were big things that made him pause and think for a bit. You being a Pyrrhic was one of those things. When he had caught you creating dancing figures above your head out of flames, you didn't bother trying to hide anything about it anymore. Oblivating him would have brought you no pleasure, and you knew it was inevitable that he would eventually learn your secret.

Newt had some questions, but once they were answered he had left the topic alone, choosing to wait until you brought it up again. You were chewing the side of your thumb when you talked about it, and he figured it would be best if he backed off until you weren't so nervous talking about the subject. After that, you had gone back to your regular routine.

Wake up, make breakfast for the two of you, help Newt tend to his creatures, then go off and help him with his field work. 

A few months later, you and him had arrived in New York with the intention of going to Arizona and releasing Frank. You admitted to yourself that you would miss the Thunderbird after his release, as you had grown attached to him after rescuing him from the mercy of traffickers in Egypt. 

On starting this journey, you would have never guessed that you would gotten this attached to Newt and his creatures. You had expected this to be just another job, one where the Minister would pay you afterward and you'd wait until he had another job for you. If Fawley were there now, he would've accused you of going soft on him. Which you were. Well, only for Newt. Something about that strange man drew you to him. Even with his lack of a filter and his ability to be a magnet for getting scratched and bit and shot at, you still found yourself drawn to him. 

And then the muggle, or a no-maj as known by the American wizards and witches, opened his case and all hell broke loose. Newt's creatures breaking out occasionally wasn't anything new--you had been telling for ages to get those damn locks fixed--but never so many at a time, nor in such a populated place.

And soon, it was apparent that there were much bigger things at play than just recapturing a few escaped magical beasts. An obscurial, the capture of a widely known dark wizard, and the city wide oblivating definitely equalled much bigger. You felt a twinge of sorrow when Jacob had stepped out into the rain (Newt was crying, and you had placed a hand on his shoulder and given it a soft squeeze. It seemed to help him a little, and he placed his hand over your's. You didn't pull away). It was obvious that he and Queenie had grown close--evidenced by the kiss she gave him--and you had developed a soft spot for the man. 

The muggle man had been the source of some rather good advice. 

* * *

 

_You and Jacob trailed after Newt as he walked down the street, peering into shopfronts as he looked for the last of his creatures. All that was left was the Niffler, Dougal the Demiguise, and the newborn Occamy. You were worried about the Occamy the most. It was only hours old, and already stranded in a strange landscape surrounded by some of the most dangerous creatures of the planet. Humans, of course._

_"You like him, don't you?" Jacob inquired quietly, looking up at you. You frowned, "We are close, yes, it is only natural we would become that way after travelling together for a year." What was he getting at? He rolled his eyes, and sounded exasperated when he spoke next. "No, I mean you like him. Romantically." Your eyes widened, and you almost stopped in your tracks. Quickly, you covered it up, returning to your cool facade. "I have no idea of what you're talking about," you said stiffly._

_"Yes, yes you do," he insisted, and you quickened your pace. Jacob only matched it, coming up beside you again. "Now, once more. Without the blatant lies this time. You like Newt Scamander in a romantic sense." His voice was too loud for your liking, and you glared at him. "Yes, yes I do. Now, drop. The. Subject," you hissed at him. Jacob smiled at you, "See, was that so hard?" Yes, you thought, but kept quiet. There was an awkward stretch of silence in which you tucked your old Gryffindor scarf into your coat, and shoved your hands deep into your pockets._

_"Now, all you've got to do is tell him," Jacob said, and just like that, the silence shattered. You closed your eyes in annoyance. "That's not how it works," you muttered, "he's so kind and caring . . . and I'm, well, not."_

_He shot you an incredulous look, "You're kidding, right? Tell me you're joking."_

_"If I was joking then I'd be laughing," you stated flatly._

_"Whatever. My point is, if you don't tell him, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. And that is n--"_

_H_ _e was cut off by the sound of breaking glass._ _"Merlin's beard, Newt," you muttered under your breath as you stalked forward with your wand drawn, "how much trouble can you get in?"_

* * *

 

Hours after the incident, you sat in Queenie and Tina's shared apartment, cupping a mug coffee in your hands. Tina was consoling her sister in her room, leaving you and Newt on the couch to mull over the day's events. It was Newt who broke the silence first, looking into his tea as he spoke. "You know, you never told me how you came to working with the Ministry of Magic," he mused. You tensed slightly, and flashes of drunken stupors and bar fights flashed into your mind. 

"I owe the Minister my life," you said quietly. Newt had shared the story of being expelled from Hogwarts, so you figured you owed him. "If it wasn't for him, I'd be in Azkaban right now, serving multiple life sentences." The silence after your words was almost suffocating, and you found yourself continuing to speak just to fill the space. "I was a drunk, and spent most of my hours either drinking or waiting for my hangover to be over so I could drink more." Your kept your eyes fixated on the swirling blackness of the coffee in your hands, unwilling to look up and into the pity that must've been shining in Newt's bright green eyes. You didn't want his--or anyone's--pity. 

"I got into a fight one night--I can't even remember what about. I _do_ remember the place going up in flames, and that no one had survived--except for me of course." The coffee in the mug started to bubble and hiss, and steam rose form the now boiling liquid. You placed the mug down on the table in front of you, knowing that there was a chance of breaking it if you continued speaking. Which, you did. Newt deserved to know. And if he wished you to stop travelling with him, you would understand and respect his choice. It would definitely hurt you if he wished it to be so, there was no doubt about it. You loved him. It had taken awhile for you to stop denying the feelings and to admit it to yourself, and you had spent many long nights wondering what your feelings would mean for you and him. You knew you would be able to keep everything professional, but you knew that there would be times that you would slip up, and reveal more than you wished to. 

Like right now, for example.

"There was twenty people in that bar, Newt. And I  . . . I killed them all. It was the Minister who stopped me from being locked away forever. He  gave a choice: become a highly trained operative for the Ministry, or rot in a jail cell in the middle of nowhere surrounded by Dementors." 

"You can tell what I chose," you finished, eyes looking down as if the hem of your old leather coat was the most interesting thing in the room--a lie, that title belonged to Newt. 

"Oh, Y/N--" he began, but you cut him off, raising a hand. "Don't," you warned in a weary tone, "I don't want, nor do I need your pity." You summoned a small lick of flame, and willed it to take the shape of a person. It danced in your palm, and you made a partner for it to dance with. You were aware of Newt watching, and you slowly closed your palm. The flames dissolved, but you allowed another to take their place, simply sliding it around your knuckles. It illuminated your face, and suddenly you looked much older.

"They say I'm dangerous. Do you think I'm dangerous?"

"Not dangerous, no. Just . . . misunderstood."

A hint of a smirk tugged at your lips.

"You say that about everything. Even the dragons."

Newt ducked his head, and took a sip from his mug. "Well, it's true. Everyone else see them for what they look like and how they behave when threatened or scared, and not how they really are." His words hit you, and you paused. He slid down the sofa to sit next to you, and you nearly started when he placed a hand on your cheek. He forced you to face him, and you swallowed thickly, very aware of how little distance there was separating you and the magizoologist. 

"Y/N," his voice was firm, one that demanded your full attention. You quenched the flame, smoke rising from your hand. "Look at me. You are not a monster, no matter what they say. You're not dangerous either, they just don't know how to care for you properly." His voice was still soft, despite the firmness. There was a pink flush rising under his freckled cheeks when he stopped talking.

"Newt," you murmured, eyes flicking down to his lips before going back to his face. You had no knowing if he felt the same, but you cupped his cheek in your other hand. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing for a few seconds. After a brief moment of hesitation, you pressed your lips to his. His lips were chapped, but still soft as they moved against yours. Your E/C eyes fluttered shut, soaking in the moment. It was nice, to relax, it was felt as if the world had melted away, leaving you and Newt in your own little bubble.

And for the first time in your life, you felt peace.

 

 

 


End file.
